


Fighting Asshole With Asshole

by heartsinhay



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinhay/pseuds/heartsinhay
Summary: Phichit and JJ end up at Hasetsu at the same time, both wanting Victor to coach them. Nobody is pleased with this situation. The buddy comedy nobody asked for, featuring the Chulanont Academy of Remedial Social Skills, JJ being the worst wingman ever, and Victor Nikiforov's hypothetical magic ice dick.





	

Phichit’s got it all planned out. He can’t ask Victor to be his coach head-on—it’s a delicate situation, especially since Victor Nikiforov, living legend, wants for nothing, by all appearances perfectly happy with having only one skater to train.

So he’ll go at it obliquely, feel out where Victor and Yuuri are at in their plans for the season right now, get them thinking ahead for the future. Bring up his and Yuuri’s rinkmate days, so Yuuri won’t feel threatened. And then mention Yuri Plisetsky, currently chafing under Yakov, so Phichit’s request for a temporary training period looks a little better in comparison.

He takes a sip of miso soup, waiting for the perfect time to bring it up—

“Stop! It’s JJ style!”

If Phichit had even a little bit less self-control, he’d throw his bowl of soup through the doorway, where Jean-Jacques Leroy has apparently decided to show Yuuri’s parents his signature pose, even though there’s no conceivable reason they’d be interested in it, since they _don’t follow skating._

Phichit hadn’t shown off to Yuuri’s parents. Phichit had brough them a box of coconut candy, a nice bottle of Magic Alambic rum and some tiger balm for Mr. Katsuki’s back. He glances at Yuuri, a _what the fuck is this guy doing here_ expression on his face, only to find that Yuuri and Victor are already giving each other the same look.

JJ turns toward them, radiating utter confidence, his arms still in the JJ pose.

“I’m here so you can coach me, Victor!”

What the _fuck._

“You fixed Yuuri Katsuki’s nerves,” JJ continues, ignoring the offense on Yuuri’s face, and Victor’s, and, come to think of it, Phichit’s, “I want you to fix mine.”

Victor smiles. JJ grins back, complacent in his arrogance, but Phichit knows that smile, sees the danger behind it.

“So you thought it would be a good idea to come into my house—“

“Actually, Victor,” Yuuri interrupts, “It’s technically not _your_ house—“

“—interrupt _my_ honeymoon—“

“Victor, we haven’t even had the wedding yet—“

“—with the beautiful, talented, love of my life—“

Victor pauses, glances at Yuuri, but this, apparently, Yuuri has decided not to contest.

“—just to demand this of me?” Victor finishes, never losing the artificial evenness to his voice. He addresses his next question to Phichit with a theatrical air. “Can you believe the nerve?”

Phichit is never tactless. He is unfailing friendly, unflaggingly gracious. He had a plan, damn it! But he is also a man who knows when his plans have fallen apart, so when he answers Victor, it is with a sheepish smile of his own.

“Well,” he says, “Actually.”

That’s all he needs to say. He can already see the gears turning in Victor’s mind as Victor places every word Phichit has said for the last half hour in new context.

“You want me to coach you, too.”

“I was building up to the question.”

Victor hums, contemplative, and Phichit takes advantage of his distraction to mouth a _sorry_ at Yuuri. Victor’s face is as smooth as ice, and as unrevealing. When his mood changes, his eyes sparkling with that famous Nikiforov charm, Phichit notices the transformation with the respect of a competitor. This is how Victor Nikiforov became a legend: his ability to change. This is how he draws you in.

“Okay!” Victor says, “How about this, then? I decided to go coach Yuuri when I saw him skate _Stay Close to Me_. If either of you can do that perfectly, I’ll coach you, too.”

_Stay Close to Me_ , developed by Victor Nikiforov at his peak, the program that won Worlds and has about a billion quads in it, i.e. practically impossible for Phichit, who only knows how to do one.

“I’ll do it!” says JJ, instantly, “I can show you right now.”

 

 

They end up at Ice Castle, the Nishigoris not that much more impressed as the Katsukis were. Apparently having your childhood friend engaged to the most famous skater in recent history takes the shine off celebrity.

JJ takes to the ice, and… He’s good, Phichit can admit that. He lands most of his quads—a few of them turn into triples, but that’s only to be expected—mimics the choreography in a way that makes Phichit think he’s practiced this before. There’s a very real chance that he’ll get Victor to coach him and Phichit won’t.

“Too bad!” Victor says, the moment JJ stops, “You have the technically skill, but the emotional aspect was completely lacking. _Stay Close To Me_ is about love, longing. I don’t know what you were skating, but you got it completely wrong. You can try again, if you’d like, but I doubt the result would be any different.”

“I will!” says JJ. His second try is worse: the skating sloppier, his lines less precise, and Victor clicks his tongue at the attempt.

“I said longing, not desperate. Phichit?”

“Ah, no, not me,” Phichit says, already shaking his head, “I don’t have all the quads yet. But when I do, Victor, I’ll surprise you with my routine!”

“Fair enough,” Victor says, so easily that Phichit would find it quite plausible if someone told him that this happens to Victor every week. “Yuuri, let’s go to the beach!”

Phichit stays behind after they go, staring balefully at JJ, who barely had time to protest even if he’d tried. It’s a good thing, Phichit reflects, that they are separated from each other by the barrier around the rink, because otherwise Phichit would be trying to kill JJ with his own skates.

“Nice try,” he says, instead.

“Hey, at least I tried,” is JJ’s surly reply, “Why are you here if you’re not going to?”

Phichit stares at him incredulously. Why doesn’t he just skate a full routine he’s never tried before, with jumps he’s never been able to land, indeed. Why doesn’t JJ just go eat a dick?

“I’m here because I need help with my quads,” he says, carefully neutral, “I’d have to work a lot harder on them before I could even try _Stay Close to Me.”_

“That’s what you want?” asks JJ, raising a smug eyebrow, “I could teach you quads. I won’t, but you don’t have to come all the way to Japan for that.”

“Why did you come all the way to Japan, then?”

“Yuuri’s the only skater I know who’s gone through the same thing I did, at the Grand Prix, and come out of it after.”

JJ shrugs, his posture strangely hunched as he leans against the barrier, which is just unfair, because now Phichit’s feeling sorry for him, remembering how it felt to even watch that trainwreck.

“What helped me with nerves,” he offers, slowly, “Was getting to know the other competitors. You don’t get as intimidated by the pressure when you know that everyone you’re competing against is rooting for you, too.”

"I tried," says JJ, "Hanging out with the other skaters, getting to know them, whatever. I don't know why, but it never works."

And that’s his sympathy gone. Phichit remembers the one time he’d spoken to JJ before the final, when the man had burst in during the middle of dinner to announce that he’d be getting gold. _That_ was him, trying?

Part of Phichit, the sweet, friendly part that everyone loves, wants to smile and say something about things working out eventually and just let it go. Another part knows that saying nothing doesn't do JJ any favors. The worst, most petty part of Phichit, the part that fumed when JJ crashed through all of his careful plans, just wants to destroy him.

Phichit shrugs, and smiles, as bright and as menacing as Victor Nikiforov himself.

"I'm pretty sure it's because of your entire personality," he says.

Annoyingly, JJ doesn’t even miss a beat, letting out a long, low whistle.

“Ouch,” he says, “I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

“Just because I know how to be nice—“Phichit begins, reflexively, but then he registers what he’s just said and falls silent, the beginnings of a plan coalescing in his mind. It’s not the best plan. Sub-optimal. Actually, it’s kind of in the abyss, as plans go. But Phichit’s always been good at salvaging a situation, and this is the only leverage he’s got.

“I know how to be nice,” he repeats, and flicks a considering glance at JJ, silently judging in his self-branded sweater and shitty undercut, “And you know how to land quads. We’ll both be here for a while, working on our routines, so let’s make a deal. You show me how to land your jumps, and I’ll teach you how to hang out with other skaters. Sound good?”

He doesn’t expect the hesitation JJ shows. JJ had seemed impulsive enough to either accept or reject the offer in a matter of seconds, but instead he looks at Phichit for a long moment, strangely pensive, and then extends his hand.

“At this point, I’ll try anything,” he says, “Why the hell not?”

 

 

Phichit catches up with Yuuri later that night as he’s stepping out of the onsen. It’s the first time since Phichit arrived in Hasetsu that he’s seen Yuuri without Victor. The two of them are never far apart—either Victor’s clinging to Yuuri like a limpet, or Yuuri’s being swept along in Victor’s wake.

“Phichit-kun,” Yuuri says, “I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Sorry about springing the coach thing onto you,” Phichit replies, instantly, although if Yuuri really was upset about that, he’d be quietly stewing on the other side of the inn, not talking to Phichit. “I was going to check with you first, but then JJ showed up, and I had to say something.”

“I don’t mind about that,” Yuuri says, a relief even if Phichit shouldn’t have been worried in the first place, “But I did want to talk to you about Victor being your coach. The thing is…”

Yuuri glances to the side, embarrassed, and, despite their long friendship, Phichit has no idea what he’s going to say. _The thing is, Victor says he’s coaching me, but really it’s all just part of an elaborate sex game. The thing is, Victor’s decided to stop coaching to focus on planning our wedding full-time. The thing is, we like our own little world together, so we’d prefer it if you just went away._

“The thing is, Victor isn’t a very good coach.”

“What?”

Phichit knows he’s got his Scandal Face on, but he’s too invested now to try and control his expression. Dish, Yuuri, dish!

“It’s true,” Yuuri says,” Did you know, at the Cup of China, when I got all nervous, he tried to ‘shatter my heart’ and told me he was quitting? Who does that? Sure, he’s good at noticing the little things that go wrong in your routine, and he can show you what it’s supposed to look like every time, but since he’s a genius, he can never tell you how he does something, he just expects you to figure it out. When Yurio was having problems with Agape, he made us stand under a waterfall. A waterfall, Phichit!”

“Wow, Yuuri,” Phichit says, suitably impressed, “You’re really not holding back.”

Yuuri’s still embarrassed, but he looks a little pleased, too. His smile is different here from how it was in Detroit: softer, less unsure. He used to smile like he was asking the world permission to be happy, and though Phichit had loved that smile, it looks better here.

“I’ve told him all that,” Yuuri says, “He’s got a lot of bad habits—sometimes he’ll get distracted halfway through practice and start doing his own thing, and he takes naps during my exercises and thinks I don’t notice, but I wouldn’t have anyone else as my coach.”

“I get that,” Phichit says, and offers, for what it’s worth, “But I don’t need the basics. I was always going to go back to Ciao Ciao long-term. I thought it might help me with quads if I worked with someone used to landing them, and…”

The next part is something he’d never be able to tell anyone but Yuuri, who senses his uncertainty and leans in, letting Phichit lower his voice.

“Victor—he was a different skater every season. And last season, at the Grand Prix Final, you and Plisetsky skated like you’d been reborn. It’s a completely new skating scene, with completely new stakes. If I’m going to compete against you two—I _am_ going to compete against you two, so I need to be reborn, too. I need to surprise everyone like you did last year.”

“Do you think Victor will help you do that?”

“Maybe,” Phichit says, and bumps his shoulder against Yuuri’s to lighten the mood. “Besides, even if it doesn’t work out, I still get a vacation with my best friend.”

 

 

The conversation sticks in his head all the way through to the day after, when he and JJ have what counts as their first lesson. JJ shows him a quad lutz with maddening ease, slowing down the movements so Phichit can get a better look, and Phichit copies them as best he can.

“I talked to Yuuri last night, about Victor,” he says, right before his second try at the jump. Lean down, launch, and—it’s just a triple again.

He lets his momentum push him towards the edge of the rink.

“He told me Victor, as a coach, doesn’t really handle nerves very well. I think any transformation Yuuri had last season was fuelled more by their personal relationship.”

JJ’s face is entirely without comprehension, and Phichit feels the need to clarify.

“Their _romantic_ relationship.”

“Wait, they’re gay?”

If Phichit had been in the air when he heard that, he would’ve fallen on his face. Instead, he just stares at JJ with abject horror, nearly skating into him, then kicks off with a huff when JJ begins to laugh.

“Kidding, kidding! I know they’re together, they’re getting married. The look on your face!”

“You know,” Phichit says before he can stop himself, “Whenever you make a joke where the punchline is you saying something stupid, I can never tell that it’s a joke, and I just think that you’re actually stupid.”

He launches himself up again, anger fueling his jump. One turn, two, three, he’s still in the air—and he lands on the ice before he’s even halfway through his fourth.

“Anyway, nice try, but you’re not gonna psych me out that easy,” JJ says, and then, like it’s something to be proud of,” I’d be completely okay with fucking Victor Nikiforov.”

Phichit almost wants to defend himself, wants to say that he was warning JJ as a favor, but it’s true that Phichit would have a much easier time convincing Victor to coach him if JJ wasn’t here. No matter what his reasons were, he still wanted JJ to leave.

“You have a fiancée,” Phichit points out, and JJ shrugs, unperturbed.

“ _Isabella_ would be completely okay with me fucking Victor Nikiforov,” he says, and then, catching sight of Phichit’s expression, “What, like we’d be monogamous? We’re the two most attractive people in Montreal, ergo basically the entire Western hemisphere. It’d be a crime to keep that much perfection from the universe.”

Phichit doesn’t think he’s ever hated anyone before. It’s kind of a novel experience.

“Well, Victor and Yuuri are monogamous,” he snaps, “So don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t worry,” JJ says, raising his hands in a gesture that’s probably meant to be placating but definitely isn’t, “Your boyfriends’ virtues are safe with me.”

“What did I _just_ say—“

“Hey, try crouching a little more before you go into the spin,” JJ says, abruptly, his eyes tracking Phichit’s posture, “I think that’ll get you more air.”

 

 

By the end of their session, Phichit has enough “air” to complete four full turns, though his landings are still less than clean. His success puts him in a little more charity with JJ, whose skating advice actually isn’t that bad, and he’s starting to feel a little bad about losing his temper.

Not on JJ’s behalf—Phichit is completely sure that JJ deserves absolutely every second of his rage—but on his own. Phichit prides himself on being level-headed, easygoing. He lets things roll of his back. He doesn’t get angry, not to the point where he can’t act like an adult.

So when Yuuri invites him to go out for dinner with him and Victor, just to prove to himself that he can handle it, Phichit asks if JJ can come along.

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asks, surprise overriding his politeness.

“Don’t worry,” says Phichit, “I’ve got plans.”

“You and your plans,” Yuuri says, but his tone is fond, and Phichit is in a good mood when he goes to tell JJ they’re leaving in twenty.

“Nice,” says JJ, and Phichit really does hope that he appreciates how quickly Phichit works.

“And if you act like a jerk, it makes me look bad, so let’s have our first lesson,” says Phichit. He points to the floor. “Sit down.”

JJ sits. He’s fresh out of the onsen, a towel around his neck, but he’s changed into the exact same JJ Style-branded outfit he was wearing only an hour before (incredibly tacky, not that Phichit expected any better).

“The thing I don’t get,” Phichit says, thoughtfully, “Is that your parents like you. Your girlfriend likes you. You have acquaintances, at least, I’ve seen them on your Instagram—I unfollowed you months ago, by the way. And yet I’ve never seen you talking about anything other than yourself.”

JJ starts to say something, but Phichit waves him off, not done with his speech.

“Yeah, I know you’re the king, whatever, but you can’t be the king all the time. What do you talk about when you have to be a normal, non-royal, less-douchey person?”

JJ fidgets, uncharacteristically, rubbing the rims of his sunglasses before putting them back on the top of his head. Seriously, still tacky. Phichit waits.

“Isabella’s really into finance,” JJ offers, eventually. “She’s a macroeconomics major. And for the rest of it—normal stuff, I don’t know. Food. Parties. Music.”

“That’s good,” says Phichit, who had honestly suspected that JJ and Isabella did only talk about himself, though finance isn’t that much better. “So when we go out tonight, just pretend you’re talking to—“

No, wait. He’s seen JJ talking to Isabella. It’s not a good look.

“Pretend that there’s a new rule,” Phichit amends, “And the rule is no talking about how great you are. I swear I’ll kick you if it looks like you’re going to start.”

 

 

Phichit makes good on his promise early in the night, when JJ looks like he’s about to call himself “champion” and Phichit kicks him neatly in the shin. He ignores the wounded look JJ gives him, because, really, what did the man expect, and follows up with swift retribution all four separate occasions JJ almost ends a sentence with “that’s JJ style.”

He’d made JJ change before they went out. Not having to look at that same outfit again should have muted his wrath, but not even the way JJ’s blue shirt brings out his eyes can save him. _Nobody_ should fill out a polo shirt (honest to god, a polo shirt) that well. Besides, Phichit isn’t really kicking that hard: after all, they do have practice tomorrow. It’s more of a “blow to JJ’s pride” type situation.

The most frightening part of the entire evening is that now Phichit can read JJ’s signs of incipient asshole as well as he reads his Twitter feed. It’s something that puffs up his posture, a deep breath as he prepares to boom his voice, a certain open-mouthed smirk that signals the advent of the King.

He kicks JJ without any of those signs only once, as Victor tells them about his first night in Hasetsu, and they use Victor and Yuuri’s shameless flirting afterwards as an opportunity to have a whispered conversation about it.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Victor was in the middle of an anecdote, you— _dipshit_ ,” Phichit says, the English insult heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue. He immediately regrets using the word, though only because of his own sensibilities, and definitely not enough to let JJ (who really is a dipshit) know he feels even a shred of remorse.

“He stole Makkachin from me,” Victor says, his attention suddenly back on the table, “Did you know that, Phichit? After a while Makkachin stopped sleeping with me and went to go sleep in Yuuri’s bed instead. _I_ wanted to go sleep in Yuuri’s bed. Your best friend is a no-good dog-stealer.”

Victor’s the kind of person who likes to invoke a call-and-response to his flirting, sometimes, appealing to Phichit as a third party without really requiring any reply. It is not, in Phichit’s opinion, as cute as either of them think it is.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says, before Victor and Yuuri can start flirting again, leaving him with only JJ to talk to, “I only ever had hamsters, and they always liked me best.”

“I’m used to dogs,” Yuuri says, “When Makkachin runs after me, I know how to deal with it, even if I have to stop him from going into buildings sometimes.”

“We have a dog who does that, back home,” JJ volunteers. Phichit allows it. “One time I didn’t double-check and Michelle got onto the rink with me. She was actually pretty good.”

“Dogs can ice skate?”

“They’ve got good balance,” JJ says, “Michelle knew what she was doing.”

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes, clutching at his fiancé’s arm, “Yuuri, this changes _everything_.”

“I am not doing a pair skate with Makkachin.”

“Think of the surprise,” Victor says, dreamily.

“The biggest upset in competitive figure skating history,” JJ says, dissolving into laughter, and Phichit picks up his train of thought enough to add, seamlessly, “The shock of the season—Victor Nikiforov announces that he’ll be devoting the rest of his career to choreographing routines for his dog.”

It’s a good dinner out, and Phichit, surprising enough, finds himself having fun, kicking JJ less and less and laughing at his jokes more, even sharing a look with him when Victor starts getting excessively sappy at the table (a quick sample: “You stole my dog, Katsuki Yuuri, but not before stealing my _heart_.”).

When they’re waiting for the check to come, Phichit demands they take a selfie.

“One, two—“

Click. Phichit inspects the result: himself, flawless as always, Victor in full photoshoot mode. Yuuri smiling shyly at the camera, and… JJ, doing the fucking JJ pose.

_One step forward, two steps back_ , Phichit thinks, and says to JJ, aloud:

“I’m cropping you out of the photo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dogs can actually ice skate! It's really cute :0
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=995LK3ptoKA
> 
> I do not actually condone kicking your friends. If you really need a signal, do a bird call or something.


End file.
